


Endings

by LilyCarmenBlack



Series: ENDINGS, WARDEN AND EAST SERIES [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Child Death, Dark Magic, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Magic, Post-War, Psychological Torture, Rings of Power, Seelie Court, Torture, Tír na nÓg, Unseelie Court, War, War of the Elves and Sauron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyCarmenBlack/pseuds/LilyCarmenBlack
Summary: Pain pierced the Unseelie’s back, the taste of Cold Iron burning her back as she lay on the icy floor. She could faintly hear people jeering, their voices marred as if she were deep underwater. She felt something pull on her leg, a man’s grip tightening as he pulled her out into the light. The fae gulped. The humans had lit the pier, and now they were going to burn her. [OC/OC].





	Endings

 

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**Disclaimer: I only own my own characters, such as Thorn/Drysi. Characters created explicitly by Tolkien and Peter Jackson for LOTR, are not my own. I do not gain any money from this, and instead are using their amazing works to write fan fiction.**

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**Warnings: There is torture, and mention of rape, execution and death in this chapter. If you do not wish to read, then click away. This is an M for a reason - you have been warned.**

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**I**

**A Torture Most Unforgiving**

Pain pierced the Unseelie's back, the taste of Cold Iron burning as she lay on the icy floor. From what she could tell, her imprisonment rested solely on the impure ore and the faint trickle of salt that surround her jail's interior. The fae lifted her head, black locks falling down her back as she reached up to the leather blanket that covered her, wishing she could peel it away to see what time of day it was.

The blanket was something that kept her alive, for the darkness managed to keep her safe during the day, and as she fed on the blacklight, she once again wished to be free. Sunlight wouldn't kill her, for if she really wanted the Unseelie could walk through a warm summers day, however, she didn't particularly like it, and if she stayed outside for too long, she wouldn't be able to see. She was a creature of twilight, choosing to roam the earth during the night, and occasionally just before dawn, that it was almost unnatural for her to see daylight, let alone walk in the sun's hungry glow.

The cart underneath jolted, sending the exhausted fae into the iron bars. She bit back a scream as the Cold Iron burnt her flesh, staining her pale skin with bloodied welts and bruises that the fae knew would last for weeks to come. She already had been shackled with the damn iron, and every time she moved, her wrists, ankles and neck burned as her magical core was sapped form her very soul. Curse the humans for finding her weakness! Curse them!

She could faintly hear people jeering, their voices marred as if she were deep underwater. A man laughed, muttering in the Common Tongue about some whore he intended on fucking, which in turn made the other man jeer at him. The fae winced, tucking her head into her chest as the cart lumbered on. Her ears hurt too, and blood stained the once delicate tips like red paint. They had been the first things the humans had taken from her — that, and her modesty.

They had raped her, not that it mattered, for the fae had long since lost her virginity, but still, the way they had done it, the way they had treated her made the Unseelie's stomach churn. A thought suddenly dawned on her, and her face paled. What if she was pregnant with a Halfbreed? The thought made her want to vomit. If she were, it would be disgusting, a Thing among her people that did deserve not to live. If she were carrying a half-human-Aos Si, then she would tear the creature out of her uterus before it could even move.

The fae winced again as the cart moved, and she rolled backwards, once again crashing against the Cold Iron box. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, tears streaming down her cheeks as the burning intensified. In the beginning she would have moved, edging closer to the centre to get away from the deadly iron, but after three months of lying in the box, and being fed something she could only describe as shit, the fae had grown tired of moving, her body simply too week to even care.

She hadn't meant to be captured, for her imprisonment was a simply a job gone wrong. The Unseelie had been completing her King's orders, which consisted either training the young recruits of fight, or steeling a newborn baby to join the Winter Courts ever growing population. That night, three moons ago, she had been spying on a family, waiting for the best time to snatch their child from their cradle. And then she had been captured.

Considering that kidnapping babies, or Changelings as the Fae called them, only happened once every four years, the Humans had grown wildly suspicious of anyone who looked remotely Fae. The Unseelie had seen them burning people with red hair, or unusual features, watched peoples' smoking bodies burn for hours and hours on end, as the other humans rejoiced in their supposed cleverness. In the end, she thought the whole, "burning at the stake" thing pointless, because most of the time the people who died were just that — people. There was nothing special, or magical about them, but this time it seemed they had actually caught a Fae .

The fae closed her eyes as the smell of burning flesh combed her nostrils. It was pointless to escape. In the beginning she'd tried every trick in the book. She'd sent glamour after glamour, obscuring her odd ears and strange eyes, but they had all been cast aside when one of the men had poked her with a rowan stick. The fae had watched in horror as her work crumbled beneath her eyes, her magic draining as the shackles were placed on her body.

She licked her lips. What was her husband doing? Did he care that she'd gone? Had he found another wife? The thoughts were rather strange, especially since Fae only ever married once, but still, the thought that Lux was kissing another woman, made her skin curl. She could picture it as well — his thin hands wrapping around some whore's face as he kissed her. The fae shuddered. Thinking about it just made her feel worse.

The fae turned on her back, staring up at the sheep skin and the bars. What time was it? Where was she? Those two questions would have to be answered at a later date, however, she had a strong feeling she was heading to a Human City, a place called, "Gondor". The word felt hash against her tongue, the strange Human language odd to her ears. What did it mean?

The fae rolled her eyes. It didn't matter, for the second the cart arrived in this "Gondor" she would be burnt alive. The fae huffed — so much for reaching her eight-thousand-and-sixty-fifth birthday.

It was rather boring staring up at the blanket, but other then the occasional stretch and feed, there wasn't another else to do. True, she could watch herself wither away to a toothpick, but the fae didn't particularly want to do that. The fae scowled, wishing she didn't look so defeated. Out of her thirteen siblings, she was by far the least vain of the lot, and yes, while she liked to look smart, that didn't mean she was going to lather makeup, or the Valar knew what else, on her face simply because society told her to. She sighed. That was one of the things that her husband was drawn too — her brashness.

They had met as Fledglings, two young things dancing among the Winter Court as their parents discussed boring political nonsense with the Unseelie King and his First Wife. Unlike regular Fae, who were bound to one spouse for all eternity, the King could have as many wives, or husbands, as he desired. True, most of the people he picked were for sexual desired rather then love, but no matter what happened, or how many people the King married, the First Wife was always the most important — although one time there had been two males sitting on the black thrones: The Unseelie King and his First Husband.

The fae smiled softly, as her thoughts flickered to her young brother's face, and the day he married the youngest daughter of the Unseelie King - that had been a step up for her family. While her father's family had always been part of the Court, a Noble among her race, her mother was a simple Sídhe, the daughter of a serving girl. At the time, their marriage had been considered scandalous, but as the years grew and their children did more scandalous things, her mother's social status were eventually forgotten as the newer generation of Fae took their parents' seats in Court.

The fae herself had her mother's seat, but because of the humans she had been unable to attend. She winced as another whisper ripped in her head, her King's command for her to return forcing its way down her spine faster than an electric current. Apparently she was wanted.

She had tried to return, many times, but her captors had soon worked out that she wasn't an ordinary, run of the mill person, and for the first week they had stuffed boiling hot wax down her ears, which not only obscured her hearing and her King's call, but also ripped apart her eardrums. Every time they grew back, the men would slice them open, ridding her of her heritage with every fell swoop.

The fae traced what was left of ear with her forefinger. Fae ears were always a little bigger and longer than Elf ears. They twisted at the point like some sort of fancy glass-making trick, and because of the little hook, the Fae could hear someone having sex miles away — sometimes having sharp ears wasn't the best thing in the world. Because she liked pissing off her father, the fae had pierced twenty golden hoops in each ear, but they had been ripped out by the Humans when they ran out of options to break her. Now only five remained: three on her right, two on her left.

The fae ran a hand back over her ear. Oh, how she missed listening to things. If she ever got out of the cadge, then she would kill the men responsible for her torture.

From what she could tell, she was also not alone in the cart. Woman, men and children lingered inside the tarp covered cart, confined only by metal shackles, and not an iron box. That was another thing that distinguished the fae from everyone else, the fact that she was in a jail, and the others were not.

The imprisoned humans ranged from all over Middle Earth, and while most were from the Rohan, the men had managed to capture a Dúnedain. Out of all the insufferable humans that surrounded the fae, the young man, (or however old he really was), who sat closest to her box, was possibly the most bearable one of the lot. His name was Halbarad, and he was a Ranger. End of story. He hadn't told her were he was from, although judging form his accent, and the fact that he was unnaturally tall for a human, he was from Arnor, the north of Middle-Earth.

In the beginning, Halbarad, like everyone else had ignored her, and it was only when the Men had struck the fae with a Cold Iron hammer, breaking her jaw and skin, did the man finally speak. He had reset her jaw, careful not to touch her ears, as, like people weren't allowed to touch Elves' hair, Fae found that particularly area sensitive. Apparently he was well versed in the tales, for he always spoke politely to her, no matter how many times she pissed him off, and always hid shiny things from her — nobody wanted to see her hands being cut off and then regrown again. He helped her when he could, slipping half drunk cups of water her way when she was never given one, and reseting her broken bones. The fae had come to appreciate him, and although she couldn't understand a word that came out of his mouth, she had decided, that by the time the journey was up, she would have at least leant how to say, "Thank you" in Westron.

The fae winced. Her people never said, "Thank you," and instead said things like: "I appreciate your help," or "You have been most kind." It was a rather strange thing to say, now that the fae thought about it, but still, in her culture, it was disrespectful to say, "Thank you" as the phrase diluted whatever gratitude someone had done for you. But while the fae wasn't happy, she had a feeling that, "Thanks," was a far easier word to say in Westron then, "I appreciate that you managed to reset my bones, and feed me. I hope to see you in Paradise. Have a nice death!"

So far, the only thing he had been able to understand about her, was that her name meant Thorn in Westron, and that she wasn't an elf. The fae smiled, rising her greasy head on her arm as Halbarad's snores, filled the cart. If she were a human, she might have gushed over him, especially since he was technical her "type," whatever that was. He was dark haired, like Lux, but unlike Lux, his eyes weren't black, and instead were a deep grey. Scars ran up and down his tanned arms, and as he snored, the fae relaxed. But still he was mortal, a man with years running out, while she, like the Elves could live for decades, even millennium, humans could not. Besides, she was already married, she could be looking at him like that!

The fae looked down at the cold ground, wishing for the millionth time she could leave. Three months was an awful long time in the Human Realm, but for her people, it was only nine days in the Land of the Young. Maybe nobody had noticed her absence yet? Would she ever be let back in?

The Winter Court was a rather unforgiving place, and more than once, the fae had watched friends being turned away because they had failed to do their duty. Those Fae had been shunned, becoming part of the so called "Solitary Fae" who traveled around Middle-Earth and the Land of Ever Young, being generally mopey and depressed wherever they went. Contrary to poplar belief, the Solitary Fae were the most dangerous, for they were unpredictable, and with no court to stem their magic from, they usually tried to go for all four, dam the conciseness. Would she explode like the others?

Another bump caused Halbarad to wake, and the man jolted, the edge of his fingers slipping in the cage to check that she was still alive. It had become a strange sort of ritual the two did, as if to reassure each other that they were safe — or as safe as one could be in hell. The fae quickly touched his palm, and he said something, something which the fae kind of understood as being "almost there" and that was only because he said, "Gondor" in his sentence. The fae closed her eyes. Would they be in, "Gondor" soon?

The fae raised her head as the sounds of crying children beat the air, a pair of gates opening and shutting as they let the cart in. She sat up, heart pounding. Where they in "Gondor"? The cart moved on, stopping every so often at what the fae assumed were checkpoints, and more than once, she realised that whenever they were, had been built on a heavy incline. Just as the fae was about to roll over, there was the sound of the cart door being opened, and a loud voice filling the air. She suspected the human were telling the Prisoners to get out. The fae's heart drummed.

This was it.

She was going to die.

Halbarad said something, as if trying to comfort her as he was pulled away. His voice was gruff, as if he hadn't spoken in a while, and with a horror, the fae realised she had been drinking all his water ration. She winced, suddenly feeling terrible.

Suddenly, she was being picked up, the box jostling, and the fae yelped as she rolled forward, screaming at the top of her lungs as she slammed into the metal. If they were in "Gondor" maybe someone would help. The fae groaned. Who was she kidding? Humans hated anything unnatural!

The fae winced as sunlight suddenly flooded her box, the bright light of midday gluing its eyes on her. The blanket was off! She covered her hands with her face, not wanting to see the terrors that faced her. She could smell horse shit, the sweat of humans, but most importantly the coldness of stone. Stone? Did that mean she was in a city? Did humans even have the technology to build with stone yet?

It had been thousands of years since had really seen a human settlement, and while she did have to agree that King Elendil certainly had a great eye for architecture, the fae had a feeling that humans had all but lost the skill of their ancestors. The stone that rattled under the cart smelt old — really old, as if someone had built it, and then left it to rot.

She heard the creek of the iron door as it opened, and the smell of man as her imprisoner reached inside. His heavy arm touched her breasts, which caused her flinch, before he moved across her body, his horrid fingers pressing against her tattoos, touching her Bonding Mark with unkind, rough hands.

She kicked him, her pain and desperation cladding into once solid strand of anger and fear. That wasn't a good idea. A small scream reached her lips as she was hit, the smell of her own blood reaching her mind as the knife imbedded itself into her naked body. She felt something pull on her leg, a man's grip tightening as he pulled her out into the light.

The fae gulped. This was the end.

The man screamed something at her, forcing her to look up at him as he talked to her. She saw a grubby face and dark hair, before the man kicked her in the stomach, his hard boot catching her thin frame, sending her skidding against the ground. She screamed, nails catching the stone, as the grit scraped up her back.

What had she done?

She caught a glimpse of a white city as she sat up, but her head was spinning like a hurricane, that she couldn't really take in this "Gondor" properly. She heard Halbarad call out her name, her Westron name, but by the time she worked out that, "Watch out" meant that someone was coming towards her, it was too late.

A Cold Iron hammer smashed against her skull, quieting her King's whispering and the pain that numbed her body, as everything went black.

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The dungeon was far better then the cage, for it was somewhat clean, with fresh straw beneath her sore body and didn't smell of her piss; the downside was that it was absolutely cramped. If there had been twenty people in the cart, there was at least five hundred in a cell that should have fit half that number. It seemed to the humans, that they didn't care if men or woman shared the same prison, and by the time the fae awoke to Halbarad staring down at her, she already wanted to vomit.

He said something to her, in that odd tongue of his, the twisting, harsh, language scratching against her ears as if he was trying to apologise, but she couldn't quiet grasp it because of his horrid accent. The fae groaned, tucking her head into her knees, digging her nails into her arms as Halbarad began to twist his hands in a nervous gesture. From what she could understand, Halbarad was just as scared a she was.

Someone had dressed her in a plane white gown, the cotton fabric scratchy against her breasts, and while she was grateful to wear something other than blood and grime, she also knew that this would most likely be the last thing she would ever wear.

Ignoring Halbarad's attempt at and conversation, the fae stared at the wall, heart heavy as she wondered what death might bring. Maybe she would meet her sister? Or perhaps she wouldn't be reborn. Maybe the fire would cleanse her of that right.

The man muttered something else, trying to speak to her, but the fae tuned him out, and instead concentrated on how to get her shackles off. Now that they weren't moving, it was technically easier to run, but there was two problems. One, she was chained to the wall in Cold Iron, and two, she did not know the geography of, "Gondor." If she did get out, she'd most likely be brought right back to the cell, with a few extra scars to prove she'd done it.

The fae winced, wishing for the hundredth time that humans hadn't found out the Fae's weakness. From what she had learnt from her mother, the Humans had only uncovered that Cold Iron and Rowan sapped a Fae's power, when a blacksmith had hurled a piece of unheated ore at a Seelie Fae. Why a Seelie had decided to venture into mortal combat with a Human, was beyond the fae's knowledge, for the Faeries of the Summer Court had always been the most, "Human-friendly" out of all the courts. She growled. Oh well, it was just another reason to hate the Seelie Court then.

For over a thousand years, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts had been fighting in a deadly war. Compared to the Human, Elven and Dwarven war against Sauron, an age before, the battle between the Summer, Spring, Autumn and Winter Courts was absolutely brutal. The fae had lost half of her family to Seelie bastards, including her own son, three hundred years previously. A strange pain suddenly drifted across her heart.

Her son…

He had been young when he died, barely a hundred, really a child, but the Fifth Faeiry War had been deadly, and thousands, if not millions of innocent children had died. He hadn't even been a solider, just an Unseelie Fae on the brute end of a Seelie's spell. True, the fae had ripped the Seelie to pieces once he had killed her son, but still, if she died, would she get to see her little boy again?

The fae turned away from Halbarad, concentrating on the wall beside her head. Death didn't scare her, for that was one of the strange gifts she and her people had been blessed with as being children of Winter. The thing that scared her, was the way in which she would die. Being burnt alive wasn't pretty, and she knew that she would probably die from the flames fumes rather then the fire's itself. However, she was also fae, with a high healing rate that meant she would most likely explode before dying. That didn't sound very particularly nice.

Halbarad was still talking to her, as her nails desperately trying to scratch out the sealed wax that lay there. If she could just understand what he was saying, try to learn the language, then maybe she could get him.

Her back tightened as Halbarad pressed his hand on her shoulder and she turned to face him. He pointed a his ears, and made a funny face. The fae frowned. What? He did it again, and after a while of strange expressions and weird pointing, the fae finally understood. He was asking if he could pull the wax from her ears. Her face darkened.

For a short while, she studied the man's face, wondering if she could really trust him. Yes, while he had fed her, and had been kind to her, she didn't trust him entirely. He was still human, and could change his personality in a heartbeat if he really wanted to. But at the same time, Halbarad had been the only person to help her, had been the only person who hadn't poked and prodded her tattoos with a Rowan stick to see if they were glamours. He hadn't raped her, starved her or beat her. The fae licked her lips.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded.

Obviously weary, Halbarad gave the fae a nervous smile, before he gently pushed back the fold of her mangled ear. As soon as the human's grubby hand touched it, the fae froze, a thousand electric currents shooting up her spine. This was wrong! He couldn't do this! Only Lux could touch her there!

Steeling her fear, the fae screwed up her face, shivering every time Halbarad got a bit more of the wax out of her ears. Hours passed, and by the time Halbarad puled the last wax from her ear, the fae was exhausted. Both emotionally and physically drained, the fae gave Halbarad a week smile before she rested her head on the floor.

She must have passed out again because the next time she awoke, Halbarad was pulling her to her feet, shoving her behind him as the door opened. People shrunk away from the doors, fearful as a man's angry voice filled the air. Now that the wax was removed, everything around concmovrably loud, and the fae winced as the man's bellowing yells reached her. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to remove the wax.

The men looked over them, their gazes lingering on the woman as they eyed them up. The fae shuddered. She could only imagine what they were going to so to them. The leader, a pot bellied man with a long beard and needy eyes, began pulling people out. As he did so, he would snatch up their faces, inspecting them. It was as the fae and Halbarad approached that she recalled that he was separating them into two different groups. The ones who would die, and the one who might live. Suddenly she didn't want to live.

It was as Halbarad was pushed into the group to die, that the leader paused. His black eyes stared at the fae, his lips curling as he stared at her bloodied ears, and strange tattoos. The fae shuddered and tugged at the ends of her white dress. It was benign to itch. The man's gaze seemed to linger on her ears, and it was as he studied her, that the fae suddenly wondered if he thought her to an elf. She shuddered. That sounded absolutely disgusting. Eventually after a long while, he gripped her and pushed her towards Halbarad.

Reaching forward, the man caught her as she stumbled, her feet screaming as she struggled to walk — she'd forgotten that her captors had broken her feet. It seemed to take an age for the cell to empty, and it was as a young girl was thrown into the "live" pile, that the leader strutted over to the doomed. He smiled, and barked an order in the horrible, human language and pointed towards the doors.

As the group was pushed into a long hallway, the fae curled away as the guards jeered and yelled. Why did they have to be so loud. Their eyes narrowed as the looked at her, their faces contracting into confused expressions. She knew what they were thinking. If it wasn't for her markings that covered her body, and the fact that her ears were already growing back into strange, twisted tips, she might have been able to pass off as an Elf. The fae suddenly wanted to scream — to curse — to jump up and down like a petulant child and throw a tantrum. She did not share the same blood as those mongrels!

Loud screaming filled her hears, the voices of thousands people erupting around her. The fae winced, pressing her shackled hands to her head as her group moved on. And then the light was shining on her, burning her skin, and Gondor was revealed in all its cold magnificence.

Seven levels rose high into the sky, the great city bound to the mountain in a white-impressiveness that made the fae gape. Arches and gateway decorated the cities landscape, creating an air of magnificent grander, the likes of which the fae had only ever seen on the Unseelie King's Throne. But it was the white tree, and the deadness that clouded around it, that really made the fae stare.

Although several thousand feet below the mighty structure, the fae could sense the tree, taste it's bitterness in the cold air, see the skeletal limbs that hung like the dead, that for a brief second she wondered if it was merely a tree. It's white frame was hardly impressive, but still, as the fae wondered towards her death, she couldn't help but noticed that the tree tasted absolutely beautiful — dead and all.

It was then that she noticed the red flames, and her mouth dried. Although the cart ride had prepared her for what was about to happen, the fae couldn't help but be ever so slightly of the fire. The pier flickered and burned, the deafening screams of children reaching the fae's thoughts, that as she approached, she cursed.

The humans had lit the pier, and now they were going to burn her.

She grabbed Halbarad's arm as he passed, shoulders shaking as the two were lead to the stage, guards pushing and shoving them as they went. It was now or never. Her tongue curled as she spat and hissed, her voice desperately trying to stretch out the words before she could gag.

'Thank you,' she breathed, Westron curling off her lips. It sounded raw against her throat; new and foreign, and incredibly disgusting. Her tongue curled, and she gagged. It was wrong…so very wrong.

The drumming grew stronger, the man smacking the skin with two heavy hands. People stared at her as she passed, their mouths whispering strange words as the group passed. A child pointed at her, and suddenly a hand reached forward to grab the fae's ears. She ducked, moving away before the girl could touch her. She learnt against Halbarad's side, suddenly fearful.

Bu-dum.

Bu-dum.

Bu-dum.

It reminded the fae of her heart, which was drumming tightly in her chest. Dust and sweat filled her mind, twisting any rational thought away in a cloud of terrified fear. Was this what death would taste like? Muggy and wet?

Halbarad's hand reached hers, and he gave her fingers a tight squeeze. She squeezed back, holding his fingers so tightly that they almost turned blue.

'Goodbye,'

He sounded sad, and it was the tone of his voice that made the fae realise that he was saying farewell. In the end, the Ranger knew that he would not make it. They would just be a screaming mass amongst a sea of people as the flames rose.

The Fae of Endings smiled, and before the guards could beat her, she moved away, hips swaying to the beat of the drum, as she headed towards her doom.

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**Dear Readers,**

**Well, ain't this darker then anything I've ever written before. Do ya like it? This of course is only the beginning, and trust me, it was very hard to write a character who does not understand Westron. I had to think back to the days when I barely understood English and work from there, and trust me, four year old me has blocked those memories very, very well.**

**The Fae, of course, in Tolkien's world, did not exist, although there is mention of Bilbo's ancestry being of "faeiry" descendent, but considering that elves are sometimes considered faeiry like, the woman in question was most-likely and elf — that or a really beautiful hobbit or man.**

**I chose to include the fae, because one, I'm incredibly interested in Irish/Welsh/Scottish folklore, and two, why not. I wanted to do something different, to show another side to the good-willing-Victorian-style-winged fairies, and remind every one of the oh-my-god-we-are-going-to-die-at-the-hands-of-bloody-monsters fae. Does the Headless Horseman ring a bell? (Note: Look up Dullahan, you'll see what I mean).**

**I am going to have so much fun with integrating folk lore into this one, so strap on your seatbelts and prepare yourself for a long one, because I've only just started!**

**Hope you can survive until the next chapter,**

**From**

**Lily**


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